Named in His Prayer

“I ask not only on behalf of these but also on behalf of those who believe in me through their word, that they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me” [John 17:20-21].

On his last night with his disciples, Jesus did many things. He shared a meal with them, washed their feet, gave them a new commandment to love one another, and answered question after question about where he was going, why he was leaving, and how they would carry on without him. And after all that — after the meal, the commands, the answers — Jesus prayed.

In the Synoptic Gospels — Matthew, Mark, and Luke — we find Jesus praying alone in Gethsemane. His closest three disciples, Peter, James, and John, are with him, but even they sit apart at a distance, dozing when they should be keeping watch. The rest of the disciples are left farther back. But in John’s Gospel, the picture is different. Judas has already departed, but the remaining eleven are all still gathered with Jesus. They are within earshot, listening as he lifts them up before the Father. They are not separated, not left behind. They are gathered close, overhearing an intimate prayer.

What we hear in this Sunday’s Gospel Lesson, John 17:20-26 [Seventh Sunday of Easter, RCL, Year C] is not instruction, not exhortation, not a final list of “things to do” before Jesus departs. It is prayer. And we, like the original disciples, overhear it.

There is something deeply humbling in that realization. We are not the ones given tasks here. We are the ones being spoken of, named, offered, entrusted. This is not a scene of marching orders but of intercession. Before any action, there is prayer.

I am part of a small men’s mentoring circle at Blacknall Presbyterian. It was meant to be an “intergenerational” group, but it turned out otherwise. As many of you know, I’m 74. My co-mentor is 72, Our five “mentees” are in their 50s and 60s. When we gather, we share stories about our lives, present and past. We discuss scripture. We discuss a book that we are reading together. I’m struck the most with how close our sessions. We pray aloud for one another. Each of us prays for the man to his left or right, voicing the concerns that man has shared earlier in the meeting or, alternatively, drawing on our knowledge of the challenges and burdens in our brother’s life.

It’s a tremendously vulnerable moment. Especially for men. Especially for those of us who are used to leading, fixing, or offering counsel. Sitting quietly while someone else prays for you, hearing your name spoken in the presence of God, hearing your needs and worries lifted aloud — not by your own voice but by another — it’s an eerie, disorienting experience for me. I am not the one solving, or guiding, or holding things together. I am the one being held.

And that, I think, touches the heart of what we encounter in this Sunday’s Gospel reading. We are not being assigned a mission. We are being prayed for.

But of course, this is not simply the prayer of a friend or mentor. It is the prayer of the Son, spoken to the Father, from within the very life of God. “As you, Father, are in me and I am in you,” Jesus says, “may they also be in us” [John 17:21]. Our Lord does not pray merely for our survival or even for our unity; He prays for our inclusion — that we may be drawn into the relationship the Father and the Son have always shared.

This theme runs throughout John’s Gospel. Early on, we hear that “to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God” [John 1:12]. At the resurrection, Jesus tells Mary Magdalene to go and tell his disciples, “I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God” [John 20:17]. The relationship that has always existed within the Trinity now extends outward to those who follow Christ. We are not just called to imitate or obey or serve; we are called to belong.

We often want our faith to be practical. We want lists, action plans, measurable results. The Christian world is full of books with titles like Seven Steps to a Vibrant Church or Six Keys to Church Vitality or How to Grow Your Congregation into an Active Ministry. We are far more comfortable with to-do lists than with the strange, humbling mystery of simply being the subject of Jesus’s prayer.

What if we sat still, even briefly, and remembered that Jesus himself is praying for us? What if, before drafting our strategies or launching our programs, we allowed ourselves to marvel that we are a topic of conversation within the Trinity — that we are being lifted, named, and entrusted to the Father by the Son?

John 17’s horizon stretches beyond just the disciples. Jesus prays not only for those in the room with him but also for “those who will believe in me through their word” [17:20]. That’s us. We, too, are drawn into this circle of prayer. And even that circle does not close in on itself. Jesus’s prayer moves outward, always outward: “so that the world may believe that you have sent me” [17:21] The world — the skeptical, the resistant, the uncomprehending, the broken world — is in view.

We should keep in mind the fact that the unity we are drawn into, the love we share, is not an end in itself. It is meant to bear witness. It is meant to reveal something of God’s character, God’s mission, God’s reconciling love. What is at stake here is nothing less than the reconciliation of all things, the possibility that even those who have opposed Christ might come to believe that the Father has sent him — and that by believing, they might have life.

There’s a quiet wonder at the heart of this passage that resists easy application. It’s not that we shouldn’t be faithful, or active, or purposeful in our Christian life. But John 17 invites us to remember that before we do, we are. Before we act, we are acted upon. Before we serve, we are named and prayed over by Christ himself.

This week, perhaps we can set aside, even for a moment, our lists and strategies, our desire to be useful or effective or in control. Perhaps we can simply sit still and remember that the Son is praying for us still — not just for us, but for the world God so loves. And that, more than anything we can accomplish or fix or manage, is the source of our hope.